Model Air Planes

Monday was David Scott’s Birthday. He turned forty eight, and Dave knew that because it would mean seven years now that he was no longer in the Air Force. Dave was never a birthday celebration man, and he was used to people assuming that birth congratulations could and should be kept to a minimum. Maybe it was his grand stature that kept the balloons at bay, or perhaps it was because his hair  never grew a millimeter past government regulation. Dave’s students knew it was his birthday because the principal regarded it in a morning announcement. It felt nice to have them know. Subtle spotlight can be tolerated by anyone.

Father O’Nolan discovered it was Dave’s birthday twenty five minutes after he said morning Mass. After this realization, Father O’Nolan’s quick wit brought him to the fifty year old model airplane that was resting on this dresser. He meant to finish it long ago, and he was sure that Dave would love it. After all, Dave was in the air force. People in the air force love air planes just as much as Irish priests with dreams.

Father O’Nolan knew that he had one hour to retrieve the present, so he ran home and carefully finished the stippling in egg shell white. It was perfect. Father O’Nolan knew that it was not proper Air Force protocol to deliver presents to one’s door as an over anxious boy scout, so he left it on the faculty table with a note written in green felt pen that simply said, “Happy Birthday Dave.” He didn’t sign it, but Father O’Nolan hoped his Irish p’s would be a proper identifier.

Father O’Nolan had many things to do that day, but he managed to schedule in twenty minutes of sitting in a chair by his model airplane gift. Every now and then a teacher would walk by and marvel at his generosity and kindness. It was nothing special, he said. He just loved planes, and this one needed a good home. He implored about the effectiveness of the stippling, as if a negative response could bring about the egg shell white paint in order to make corrections. Everyone agreed with Father O’Nolan's internal sentiment; it was lovely.

Father O’Nolan later found out that Dave left the school early for a round of golf. All was well, because Father O’Nolan had some business to attend to himself. He left his perch and went along. Perhaps the reveal could wait until tomorrow. It must, anyway.

The plane sat on the table for the entire day that followed. Along the line of time is disappeared. Eventually, the only evidence of its existence were faculty murmurings regarding Father O’Nolan's attention to detail. The murmurings  pleased him well enough.

Italian Memories Pt. 1: Flowers

I am going to do a series where I post a picture from my time in Italy and I tell the story behind it. This is in an effort of me trying to record these memories, mistakes, and joys as they happened and felt.

This was in May, the day Irene, Francesca’s daughter, was baptized. At this point I could understand little of what Francesca said, but I knew that I loved her because she loved me. She told me that she was nervous about the ceremony, and I could see it on her face and in the cake that may have been more elaborate than her wedding cake. I made small talk with her sisters that had very little in common with me beside the fact that we both somewhat wanted out of Italy.

Five year old Margherita then gave me these flowers. Our relationship was still in the stage of me being a novelty, and I was silly enough to think that meant genuine affection.

In Italian they say you are talking to the universe when you attempt to make sense of things that are bigger than yourself.

Laura and I looked over the mountainside balcony at the view of Cognola, and she asked me what I was going to do after Italy. I said I didn’t know. I would probably be a teacher, or  perhaps I would strike it lucky with art, but I would most likely be a teacher. She was quiet, and then then she said that she thought that must be an American thing.

“What,” I asked, “Wanting to teach and do art?”

“No,” she said, “It is American to say you know what you will do. Maybe it is because we have less job opportunities here, but Italians are never certain they will be anything. I think we are more realistic. I’ve met other Americans this way, and I’m just noticing the connection now.”

“So Italians never say that they want to do a certain job?”

“Not really. They have a direction and follow what they like, usually.  Mostly they just take what they can get. For us it is harder to be as particular like you guys.”

“So did you always want to be an economics professor?”

“Oh no. But I kept studying, taking the next step, and this is where I am. I am very lucky you know. It is a wonderful job, but at your age I would have never  said that this job is what I wanted to do. I suppose I’m asking why you young Americans are so certain of what you want.”

This jolted me from my placid mountain gaze. I was brought back to my elementary school classrooms in career week where my seven year old self watched parents stand up and explain why their life choice was the best life choice. They solidified their vocation as the best way to help humanity. What are you going to be when you grow up? It was always a choice.

It was like deciding to eat the doughnut I just bought from the bakery. Choosing the correct purchase was the hard part; once I picked and paid, everything fell into place. Why would I second guess my ability to eat the doughnut once it was allegedly mine?

As I felt  universe was pulling me out of my comfort level  into a new realm of self actualization, I replied, “I don’t know.” I had to stop there for a moment, because that is the best thing to do when I'm not sure what to say.

I tried again, “ It might be the way we are raised. It always felt like it was a choice we had to make and it would happen. But perhaps reality doesn’t work like that.”

That night was the first of many when I felt small.

Summer of sweat

Soon after my Italian adventure finished, I drove to Nashville TN to try and convince a school run by nuns that I would be a good enough English teacher. Thankfully, week before I left for summer camp, they told me it worked. So with a bit of relief, I packed my trunk and backpacking backpack and left for another summer of unknowns.

At camp, my official job was a wilderness counselor. That meant I lead backpacking trips. I'm realizing that most of my big life decisions happen quickly, I tend to not dwell on logistics. This is often a blessing because if I had thought through the emotional and physical repercussions of leading groups of ten to thirteen teenagers and middle school girls into the woods for multiple days, I would not have done it. But like most hard things in life, I'm glad I did.

Camp was wonderful and beautiful and the people there filled me with more hope for humanity than I have had in a long time. Friendships came easily and through them I was able to verbally process almost an entire year's worth of thoughts, pains, and realizations. I will be eternally grateful for every ear that was open to me this summer.

Camp also forced me into humility. Its funny, every time I am forced on my knees I give God an, "Ok thanks! This is cool and I'm grateful, but I'm done for a little bit!" He has yet to listen.

This summer I learned that I love the wilderness, but not to the romanticized extent that I thought I did.

My hardest trip this summer was a four day trip through the foothills of South Carolina. My co counselor and I took thirteen girls between the ages of 12 and 17, and only a few started the trail with backpacking experience. I was excited to share my love for the trail with them, until I realized that most of it is awful. The reward for backpacking often comes with accomplishment at the end, but that was four days away.

By day three of walking ten miles a day while dehydrated because there was never enough time or water to replenish the constant sweat, it was getting harder to convince the girls that it was worth it. When we were in the middle of our projected mileage on day three, we stopped once again to refill our water bottles. Then the filters stopped working. When we left camp we had two wonderful water filters, but by this point, our one remaining filter was producing a tiny pencil sized stream of water that would in no way fill up the thirty nalgenes that littered the rocky area by the stream.

I was squatting by this muddy pool of water, and the filter was not pumping. I pumped harder, but that just made it rebel all the more. I looked at my co counselor, and I let loose a steady stream of unholy emotions about filters, hiking, sweat, grumbling girls, and why the heck I thought this would be fun. Because it wasn't. And the girls were dehydrated, and they weren't going to get water. We would never  make it to the campsite because they could die of dehydration before we got there.

We made the decision to keep walking and hope that we came across a fast moving water source where we could use the chlorine drops we had as back up. With no guarantees, we started walking and sure enough there was a fast stream up ahead. So we prayed that nobody would get illnesses, and kept walking.

We eventually got to the campsite. We were all still dehydrated, but we hiked thirteen miles and we were there. The campsite that seemed so promising in our mind was actually a sloped rocky cove that was buzzing with flies and bees that seemed to think we were the coolest specimens in the forest. Because of their constant attention, nobody slept that night. Our choices were reduced to sweating like mad in our sleeping bags, or being bug bait outside of them. I felt like a piece of food that gets dropped in an aquarium. Little by little I was being eaten by little creatures that were just being curious.

After a night of not sleeping, we hiked the remaining six miles with more vigor than I had seen on the previous 24. Its funny how easily hope reminds you that energy doesn't have to be your own.

The hardest part of the trip was realizing that I am no better than a pouty twelve year old who is simply, "Not having fun." Though I relatively hid it from the girls, I was pouting and whining just as much as they were. Hiking thirty miles with a forty pound pack while in a state of constant dehydration was not fun, that is just the reality.

The cool part about the entire summer was realizing that if I am living life as I should, hard work will not go away. In fact, it is just going to get harder, and the stakes are going to get higher. I will only be held more responsible for myself and others, and I better get used to showing up and hiding my pouty inner twelve year old self.

It was a summer of learning to love high school girls, and listening to but not over think their grumblings. It was a summer of over heating during dance parties (actually over heating, it was bad), and losing my family heirloom fishing pole because we put four grown young adults in a rickety aluminum canoe. It was a summer of hidden rest and recovery, thought it didn't at all come in the form I anticipated.

I will be forever thankful for the laughter, tears, and humble reality of realizing that I will not be a wilderness guide again any time soon.

7 day count down

In January when I predicted I would be largely ignoring my blog, I had no idea that I would entirely ignore it. Sorry about that. I stepped up my insta game, because I didn't want people to think I was depressed/kidnapped/dead/you've seen Taken.

So why the absence? Certainly not for lack of thought/emotion/experience.
I don't actually know.
I've decided to make a list of things I have been going through this spring, basically a bit of mental processing.

1. January  and two weeks of February felt like the longest time period of my life. The days were short, my Italian classes long, and friends few. I was learning a lot through the many hours of silence that made that time so hard.
Before coming here, my life was incredibly comfortable and fun. This was the first time I had ever lived in a sadness that wouldn't go away with a new day. I missed my free time and friends that would fill it. I was sad because God was supposed to walk with me in this time, and He felt about as present as my knowledge of Italian (minimal at best).
One day I cried in front of my Italian teacher because I was tired of her making me feel incompetent. I was begging her to pay me even the slightest mind and change the course content and structure to something I could bear for three hours a day.
And nothing changed.
So the next day I walked to the immigration office and asked if I could stop going to classes, and they said that was fine.
So I quit. It was just that easy.

2. Being a quitter was exactly what I needed.
I have always had this superman complex, in that I need to present myself as strong and perfect. Anyone that knows me well knows that I'm a mess, but also that I am a good actress. In Italy had to face the undeniable reality that I make big mistakes. I quit an expensive Italian course I didn't deserve. I can't remember my own schedule, much less another families' that I happen to be living with/heavily involved in its organization.
I learned that all of these things are ok.
Yes, it is vitally important to strive for moral perfection and holiness. But it is one of the worst things I can do to pretend that I am already there. Which was what I had been doing for, oh, probably forever.

3. We humans are way more adaptable than we think.
Did you know that humans were made to run? Sure, cheetahs are faster. But we  can go at a steady quick pace longer than most animals. This is why we could hunt big animals, and eventually grow to a population size of 7 billion.
Do many of us run? Heck no. I remember watching a high cross country race recently, and about 3/4 of the girls were crying as they were running. They admit, yeah its torture during the race, but after it is nice.
I've never been a runner, because it sucks. In fact, I've never really pushed through pain long enough to experience the reward of something like finishing a running race.
Here, I have. I learned to ski which was a long and arduous process. There were tears, cursing, and much shame. Yet. at the end of the season I could ski blacks with no problem.
I am able to understand about 60% of slow Italian now. That might be stretching it, but I no longer sweat when I have to ask a shoe clerk if she has my size. And I can talk to the nice grandparents on the bus who are nicer than most young people I've met here.
I get it now. Will I start running? No way. But I get why we were made to push through extended periods of muck and humiliation. It makes you feel alive.

4. I have met many wonderful friends here that have touched my heart in ways I never expected. I think I make it sound like I don't talk to a soul, but I definitely do. This is part of why mid-February to now has been wonderful. All of my friends here are super different, random, and wonderful. It will be harder than I ever imagined to say goodbye to this place. Not difficult to where I don't want to go home, but hard enough to miss it.

5. Spring brings redemption.
After I stopped going to Italian classes, an extra sun illuminated my whole world. I would get coffee with friends who reminded me that I'm not an idiot. I started painting more. I would spend hours in Churches just praying and looking at beautiful things. I temporarily took up  exercising with other people. I read. Its not that I didn't do these things before, now that I think about it. But the Italian lessons put me in a dark place, one that I didn't realize it until I could look at winter Emmy in hindsight.

6. Then things started blooming, I started traveling more, and now I'm here. Can't wait to go home, but I am very content and at peace.

Featuring Kevin Roberts

Stay tuned for the title explanation.

Once upon a time I gave a speech at my high school graduation. For those of you who know me, you're probably wondering why because you know I am not a stand out student: aka valedictorian or salutatorian (both of which spell check conveniently corrected for me).
It was actually because I was hilariously elected senior class president so I could put it on my college application. Which worked by the way; they let me both in and out with a diploma and everything.

A reoccurring theme in my life is relearning that I am arrogant. My graduation speech, which I mostly and thankfully cannot remember, emphasized this. Using a GK Chesterton quote that I found on google, I spoke confidently about fighting dragons with our skills and talents. Although I had never read anything Chesterton had written, I knew that he was smart, friends with CS Lewis, and knew a thing or two about how to live a moral life. He was also wise, which is a character trait that is like fly paper to me. Me being a fly, of course.

So I spoke about fighting dragons. We were given the toolbox (shout out to Aiken High), and now it was up to us to put them to good use and attack the demons waiting for us in post adolescence.

Maybe I'm not so much arrogant as I am pretentious. Which is exactly how my favorite teacher of all time described my eleventh grade English papers.

College, which was my first taste of "adulthood", was pretty easy. I made friends easily, loved most of my course work, used ministry to spend my free time, and even learned to like exercise. I left with wonderful memories, nice pictures, and the reality that I had no clue what I was supposed to do with my life.

So as far as dragons go, there weren't many. There was the loss of my grandfather, and learning that body image is a struggle I will most likely have my whole life. I had to learn that even the closest friends can hurt you through no fault of their own. There was learning to let go of control and learning to accept adventure as a nice alternative. But honestly these "hardships" were gradual, and none of them confronted me in the form of a dragon. None of these were evil, and none of them were inherently bad.

So where are the dragons? I assumed they were outside of my nice Christian college student bubble, which I decided to leave when I stepped on the plane to Italy.

Did I find them here?
Now to the weird title of this post.

I was watching SNL, because I always watch it. But Emmy, why would you sit through an hour of crude comedy that is rarely funny? Because every so often there are golden nuggets of comedic genius that make it worth my while. With that said, it is rare that I will laugh out loud watching it alone. This skit made me laugh out loud, harder than I've laughed by myself in a long time. Please watch it.

SNL Skit

Short summary:
The characters are in a FBI training shooting simulator. They are supposed to shoot the robots that pose a threat. The first is an robber that says, "See you in hell",  and the second is an  an old woman who's cat ran away. The third is a ridiculous man in an neon orange suit, sunglasses, and a giant cell phone that screams, "I'm the coolest bitch in town!"
The trainee has no idea how to handle this, and shoots him. When told that he was wrong, he said, "He didn't seem to fit a type!"

Please watch it, its way funnier than that short synopsis.

I think I mostly laughed so hard because it is a great analogy for life. These days, I'm learning that the "dragon" thing is pretty misleading. Nobody mistakes a dragon for a wise wizard. A dragon is a symbol of a forces that is so obviously evil that you draw a sword at first sight.

I had no idea that one of my biggest dragons in my experience here would take the form of a crazy Italian teacher that is very bad at her job. It would have made way more sense to me that it would come in the form of an Italian immigration office that I visited to ask if I could quit my three hour classes with her. Surprisingly, they were kind and understanding. After getting the go ahead, I drafted a resignation email and am now freed of the lessons that were slowly but surely driving me to insanity.

So now that I am tasting real adulthood for the first time, I am guessing that in life you spend more time trying to determine dragons from wizards than it is actually fighting them. It means also figuratively shooting your gun with the hope that your gut was right.

Home and back again

I went home for Christmas, and not just figuratively! Plainly put, it was the best Christmas I've ever had. After an 8 month hiatus of English everything, family, and friends, everything was just wonderful. I wish I could phrase that in a more eloquent way, but it felt like taking a long bubble bath after a month long backpacking trip. Which I've never done, by the way. Pretty sure that would be gross. Shower first ladies and gents. Then bath. 

Anyways, leaving was much like deciding to get out of the bath. You're so happy and relaxed, and clean and rejuvenated. And its time to get out. You don't want to, but its necessary. Because if you decide to wait it out and stay in, you get pruney and the water gets cold, and people start getting anxious for a turn in the bathroom. 

So I got out. 

I returned. 

Not going to lie, I spent most of my 24 hours of traveling feeling pretty sorry for myself. 

One evening that burned a mark of happiness on my heart was this New Years Eve. My brother, sister, and dear friend Mariah and I went went into a small mountain after hiking with my family and watched Clemson beat Oklahoma and advance to the National Championship. Afterwards, Mariah and I curled in the huge hammock on the porch of our mountain cabin. We were buried under blankets, and my brother came out to join in our conversation about God, our futures, and our places in this great world. I honestly cant remember a time in recent years that my heart burned with happiness like it did that night. As the night got colder, we piled on more blankets and the conversation grew deeper. It was a glimpse of heaven on earth, because for those few hours, time felt eternal. No obligations, no distractions. Just joined hearts trying to bring one another to see the unique parts of our father that we love. 

I was also blessed with the opportunity to see many of my college friends. At one point I went to our one hometown bar with my two best childhood/college friends, and we laughed at the hilarity of trying to be adults and seeing everyone from our high school days awkwardly avoiding eye contact with acquaintances just trying to escape family holiday obligations. 

I got to see the beautiful community of friends that take care of my family, and the love my mom has for entertaining those who know them best. I laughed because got to watch Star Wars next to my childhood crush, but its ok because he is going to be an amazing priest and I got over him long ago. 

I got to see another childhood turned college friend become a beautiful bride, which gave me the chance to dance my heart out with people who can arguably make me seem normal. After that,  my best friend and I got to have pillow talk and eat popcorn till late and all was right with the world. 

But I had to get out of the bath. 

Because those moments are just moments, and not for forever. In real life, staying home would get stale. I've been called on an adventure, so I must pack up my back and put my gifts to use. 

It felt like leaving Rivendale on a trek to Mordor, but that is just me being dramatic. 

After arriving, my sweet friend surprised me with picking me up from the train station with heaven baked chicken enchiladas in tow. That reminded me that my heart is well taken care of here, and it is straight up stupid for me to think that I am in this alone. 

I started reading the Wind in the Willows, and wow. Where has that been my whole life? What a beautiful gift to be given to me at the right time. Just like all the best gifts right? Worth the wait. 

There is a passage at the end of chapter 5 that perfectly related to my current emotional situation. Mole returns home after a long period away, and he takes some time to look around before nodding off to sleep. Enjoy.

The weary Mole also was glad to turn in without delay, and soon had his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment. But ere he closed his eyes he let them wander round his old room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back, without rancour. He was now in just the frame of mind that the tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about in him. He saw clearly how plain and simple— how narrow, even— it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to; this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.